


Christmas Without You

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Pining, baby boyfriends, x-factor era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Harry misses Louis so badly he might be going little crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HurdyGurdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurdyGurdy/gifts).



> Merry Christmas everyone! This was of course, inspired by that darling Harry twitcam from Christmas Eve 2011, and that quote about how Louis wanted to invite Harry and Anne over to for Christmas "as he might miss him." The title is from the fabulous Dolly Parton song of the same name, which I highly recommend. 
> 
> Gift for my wonderful beta and friend Hurdy Gurdy, I love you Jen and I hope you have the merriest of holidays. Thank you for following this jacuzzi of garbage and loving these teenage fools in love as much as I do. See you in the new year!!!!

It’s Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve, which means it’s _also_ Harry’s boyfriend’s nineteenth birthday, and Harry is feeling _spectacularly_ sorry for himself because instead of doing anything properly festive or naughty with aforementioned and newly nineteen-year-old boyfriend, he’s sitting in his bedroom at home in front of a space heater, thumbing through his old secondary school diaries and sighing mournfully. 

It’s not like he doesn’t want Louis to have a good birthday, (he does, really,) it’s just that he would prefer him to be having a good birthday with _him_ , instead of all the way in Doncaster with his school friends. With his obnoxiously nice and stupidly pretty ex-girlfriend who very nearly _everyone_ thinks is still his _actual_ girlfriend, even though that title _actually_ belongs to Harry, thank you very much. 

It’s not as if he really thinks anything is going to happen between Louis and Hannah, not concretely. Louis has made it clear, time and time again, where his affections lie. It’s just…he’s feeling really _alone_ and Hannah is so delightfully blonde and sweet and Louis hasn’t answered any of his texts or phone calls from the last few hours and Harry just…Harry _misses_ him. He misses Louis’s explosive laugh and his contagious energy and the soft, coy look he gives from beneath the fluttering half-mast of his lashes. Harry misses all of it , so much so his chest and throat are getting increasingly tight with an anxious sort of insecurity as each passing minute ticks by. 

Plus, these diaries he dragged out from the rubbermaid under his bed are _embarrassing_. Harry keeps wrinkling his nose up and cringing at every version of his former self as he thumbs through the careworn pages, reading all about every girl he’s ever thought he’s been in love with since secondary school. He’s already skimmed through Paige, Britta, May, Ashley, Holly, and Florence, and that’s just _one_ composition notebook. There is so much dreadful poetry, _so_ many mortifying lyrics, all of which is riddled in typos, in revolting cliches he can hardly believe he ever partook in. “Oh _god_ ,” he keeps murmuring through grit teeth, even though there is no one to hear him but his cat, who is curled up on the duvet into a black and white pile of fluff, dozing too deeply to hear him anyway, although her tail does twitch when he groans especially loud. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know anything, Dusty. I was so dumb,” he tells her. She doesn’t even look up. 

He turns a page, upon which the name _Florence Snodgrass_ is written a number of times in looping script. There’s a little poem in the middle of it, set apart from the litany of Florences by a ring of poorly drawn stars and spirals. _I miss you more than words can say_ , it reads. _my heart aches when you are away_. “Ugh!” Harry groans before slamming the composition notebook shut and tossing it dramatically across the room, where it ricochets off the adjacent wall with a clatter. Dusty shoots him a highly disgruntled look and hops off the bed, padding out of the room haughtily. “Sorry,” Harry calls after her, flopping onto his floor, disgusted with his thirteen year old self who knew _nothing_ of missing someone more than words could say, who knew _nothing_ about heartache, about absence. 

It’s been _three whole days_ since Harry saw Louis, and he _knows_ it’s absurd, but he feels like he’s going _mad_. There’s an actual, dull stab of pain in his chest every step he takes, a longing so profound it’s _physical._ He got used to having Louis so close all the time, to sharing a too-narrow bunk in the X Factor House before enough contestants left that a whole entire _room_ was freed up and they could stay there, like proper live-in boyfriends. He got used to falling asleep under the weight of Louis’s arm, he got used to waking up in the middle of the night and rolling over to steal sloppy, sleep-warm, perfect kisses from Louis until they both nodded off again, sharing breath. He got used to getting his _texts returned_ when they were apart, which was never for very long. But _days_ …three _whole days_ and counting, was just too much. Especially when it was Christmas Eve and Louis’s birthday and he was spending it at home with _Hannah_ instead of him. 

Harry even did a twit cam for the fans (fans, they have _fans?!_ ) earlier that night, just because he needed _some_ type of validation in his moments of weakness, to boost his ego while he was wallowing in a sea of self-pity. But even that ended up being another way to demonstrate how wildly transparently he was feeling lovesick and too far away from Louis, this time it was just to like, hundreds of people. He regretted the whole thing, just like he regrets ever trying to write about _missing_ someone before he ever truly _did_. 

He’s about to honest to god _cry_ with childish frustration, (he’s sixteen and it’s nearly midnight and he doesn’t want Christmas Eve to become Christmas without Louis in his arms or _at least_ on the phone and it’s really easy to worry about not being good enough when your boyfriend is officially _three years older than you_ and hanging out with his ex-girlfriend, even if you know it’s silly and shouldn’t matter,) when his mobile buzzes. 

Harry nearly pulls something, he sits up so quickly. He scrambles for his phone, heart in his throat as he tries desperately and in vain to not get his hopes up that this is Louis breaking radio silence. 

Thankfully, it _is_ Louis. Harry wants to cry again, though this time in profound, giddy relief. 

_ahhhh sorry haz :(((( ginger oli stole my phone!!! said i was being rude at my own birthday party when i was texting you so much earlier. blah. just got it back. how r u????_

Harry reads it over six times, grinning so hugely his cheeks hurt a little. He’s almost glad Dusty got annoyed enough to ditch him earlier, because she would surely be judging him now in that distinctly catlike fashion of hers, glaring at him for smiling so face-splittingly over a single, less than scandalous text message. He types back as quickly as he can, but before he even gets out his initial, reactionary _miss you so glad you texted me i was getting worried_ message, Louis sends another. 

_actually can i just call u? >> i want 2 hear your voice :) _

Harry whines aloud, squeezing his phone to his chest for a moment as if it were Louis himself and not just a little plastic rectangle through which he can communicate with him while they’re _all_ these miles apart. It’s embarrassing, but whatever. Dusty isn’t here anymore to mock him, so.

_yess!!!!! plz call, i’m ready wen u r, cant wait :)_ he texts back before he vaults into bed, kicking under the covers and snuggling down beneath the duvet, tingling. His whole body is tight and thrumming in anticipation, his hands sweaty as he cradles his mobile tightly, waiting. 

Thank god, Louis doesn’t make him wait long. The mobile rings and Harry doesn’t even try to preserve his dignity by letting it carry on for a bit; he answers on the first buzz, mouth dry over a shaky, elated, “Hello?” 

“Hey mate,” Louis says breathlessly, voice a little hoarse like he’s been smoking or yelling or singing and honestly, he’s probably been doing all three. Harry aches with longing, irrationally hurt by the fact he wasn’t there to smell Louis’s cigarettes, scream alongside him, back him up with harmonies. It’s just…he wants to be there always; he’s in love for the first time and he wants every little thing. 

“Happy birthday,” he singsongs, drawing his knees up tight to his chest and closing his eyes, voice quiet and a little off key because he’s nervous, even though he’s not sure why. The distance makes him that way, makes him less secure in his knowledge that Louis is right here with him, as crazy and stupid and as reckless with love as Harry is. It’s harder to _feel_ that from him, when they’re apart like this. 

Louis laughs, and static crackles over the line. Even then, it’s such a lovely sound, that laugh, like sparklers and Champagne and one hundred strings of Christmas lights all coiled together, warm and glowing. “Aw, thank you Hazza. Wish you could have been here, s’been an absolutely massive night.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, throat thick. “S’agood party?” 

“Terrific,” Louis says, sounding a little distracted. Harry can hear other voices, someone yelling wherever Louis is, calling his name and Louis covers the receiver for a moment to answer, but Harry can hear him anyway, his bright, cheerful _Oi Oi!!! Night Luke see you, mate._ A moment of crackling passes, then the sound of him shifting his mobile back to his ear. “Ugh, Sorry,” he says to Harry. “There are some last minute stragglers. Won’t get out of me house.” 

Harry feels like he’s bursting. Like he can’t waste another second stewing in uncertainty to he jumps into it, he has to. “Lou, do you miss me?” 

“Obviously,” Louis says, without missing a beat. 

_Oh_. Harry’s heart stops, just before it speeds up so much it chokes him. “You still love me?” Harry asks, smiling into his pillow, eyes shut tight. 

“Of course, so much,” Louis says, voice high and raspy. “Hold on for one second mate, m’gonna like actually get upstairs and into me room so I can lock the door and have proper privacy, ok?” 

“Ok,” Harry murmurs, hand spread wide over his chest, so he can feel his heart thud. “I’ll wait.” 

“There’s a lad,” Louis says lightly. Then after a few seconds of awkward thumping, “Alright. I’m locked away, everyone is gone.” 

“Good,” Harry says, letting out a huff of held breath, cheeks hot because he _knows_ how silly he’s being, he _knows_ , but he can’t even begin to help it. “M’like…really, seriously, so glad you had a fun night, I just…want you all to myself now. S’that bad?” 

Louis giggles, loose and high like he’s still a little tipsy. “No, I like it. Is it bad I spent like, the whole last two hours of my party trying to wrestle my mobile away from Oli? He put it in his _pants_ though, the fucking twat, I didn’t want to go there. Had to send Stan on a reconnaissance mission to get it for me, but the whole time, the _whole time_ , was just, like. Thinking about you. Wanting to talk to you.” 

Harry basks in the sincerity of Louis’s voice for a moment, soaking in the way he’s talking so quietly and truthfully, like he’s half worried someone might hear and doesn’t want them to because this, here, with Harry, is private. “Really?” Harry asks, playing with a loose string on his duvet, beaming so fucking hard it hurts. 

“Yes, _yes_. Really. Obviously,” Louis says. Then, even more quietly, “Wish you could have been there.” 

“Me too,” Harry answers. “But like…Hannah was there. I know she doesn’t hate me but she doesn’t want to like, _hang out_ either…” Harry mumbles, well aware of the fact that he’s terrible at disguising the flat, dark tone his voice takes on every time he talks about Hannah. He likes to pretend he’s comfortable around her and that _she’s_ the one who harbors petty jealousy issues, but he and Louis both know that’s absolute rubbish. 

“Baby,” Louis says gently, and it makes Harry’s stomach flip over, makes him miss Louis so fiercely his guts clench in longing. Louis calls him _mate_ or _lad_ whenever there are people or cameras around, but alone, behind closed doors, it’s always _baby_. Harry isn’t quite over how hot and special and unbelievable that feels. “Have you been like…sitting and worrying about me’n Hannah all night?” 

“No,” Harry half lies. “I’ve been sitting and reading my old embarrassing diaries, actually. And only worrying a little. Mostly I just miss you. M’jealous of pretty much anyone who gets to spend time around you, not just Hannah.” 

Louis laughs again, then murmurs a quiet, “Me too. I’m jealous of your mum and your sister and your cat. S’not fair they get to see you and I don’t.” Harry can imagine Louis’s pout in such vivid detail right now, the way he sticks out his soft lower lip and furrows his brow, so perfectly, deceitfully innocent. It makes him inhale raggedly from his pillow; he _knows_ what it’s like to kiss that pout, and it’s driving him insane that he doesn’t _get_ to. “You know you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Louis adds. “About Hannah, I mean. she’s not…I mean. I don’t know. I’m just so, so yours, Harry. You don’t have to wonder about a single thing except how you’re going to get rid of me when you finally figure out you deserve someone better and I won’t let you get a divorce.” 

Harry snorts over a sudden burst of ecstatic laughter. “That would never happen,” he assures Louis. “Cross my heart. There’s no one better.” 

“Right, ok, you say that now,” Louis jokes. “Wait until we move in together and you see my entire enormous action figure collection and find out I sleep with a different one each night. Wait until you try and eat my cooking, You will be running for the hills, Harold.” 

“Never, Never, Never,” Harry cackles, feeling so insanely bright and lit up all over. All his prior tightness from waiting on Louis’s texts earlier in the night has drained from his body, leaving him feeling shaky and limp as he flops around in bed, dizzy with a pleasant, humming heaviness to his arms and legs. He feels warm, too, and electric, and it doesn’t take much to get him half hard on _most_ days, and then with Louis’s voice on the other line…well. He rubs his palm down to his waistband, pressing his thickening cock into his stomach. “Lou,” he says, voice low. “Just talking to you, like even just like this, about nothing? It makes me get hard.” 

There’s a moment of loaded silence before Harry hears Louis’s sharp inhalation, the smallest gasp. “Oh,” Louis says, sounding like all the air got knocked out of him. Harry marvels at that, that he has the power to do something like that to Louis, even over the phone. “Fuck,” Louis breathes. “Really? You..like you are right now?” 

“Not totally hard, but like. Half. If I touched myself, I would be,” Harry explains. 

“Jesus,” Louis hisses, voice nothing but a wrecked, barely there whisper. “I wish I could do that for you. Get you there.” 

“If you were here though, you wouldn’t even need you to touch me to get me hard. I get hard just lying next to you. Just watching you move,” Harry says, feeling emboldened by the way Louis’s breath has picked up, rustling on the other line, each inhalation a shallow scrape. The last few days they’ve talked plenty but there have always been other people around while they called each other, friends and family bustling in and out for the holidays and making it impossible to do anything other than flirt over text. But hearing Louis _say_ these things, in his perfect, sexy voice, was different than reading it on the screen of his mobile. This is the first time Harry has actually been _alone in bed_ with Louis on the phone, and he feels a little wild with it, like he could do anything, take this anywhere. He rubs his palm over the front of his joggers, feeling himself twitch and thicken up. He listens hard for the way Louis’s breath catches, the way he swallows, body responding to it so quickly because he’s _made_ for Louis, this is who he _is_. 

“Fuck Harry, how do you _do_ this,” Louis murmurs. “You make me feel…fuck. Like. So fast,” Louis coughs then, a short, embarrassed huff. For a boy who is constantly making rude, innuendo laden jokes, Louis is actually far less comfortable _talking_ when he and Harry are fooling around; he’s usually dumbstruck and quiet and breathless with awe, too stunned and overwhelmed to say anything, really, until it’s over. Harry loves it, loves getting up in his ear and murmuring filth, making Louis squirm in dual discomfort and arousal. He clears his throat, making a fist around his cock through the slippery material of his joggers. “Are you hard?” he asks. 

Louis swears. “God, yes.” Then, after a few beats. “Are you like, totally alone? With your door locked?” 

“Mhm,” Harry says. “I’m in my bed.” 

“I want to be in your bed,” Louis whines. “I’ve…like every night since we’ve been apart, the only way I can fall asleep is if I pretend you’re with me.” The raw truth of it sends a spike of sensation through Harry’s chest, and before he can say _me too, me too, l put a throw pillow behind me and pretend it’s you_ , Louis adds, “I’ve wanked every night thinking of you, too. I hope that’s like, not weird.” 

“Fuck, no, me too,” Harry says breathlessly, getting his hand under his waistband so he can properly touch himself, draw his fingers featherlight over the head of his cock to feel the beading moisture there, slick and so hot. He thinks about the way Louis’s cock feels, the way it’s smaller and fits so good in his hand as a result, the way he gets so wet, the musky flavor of it making Harry’s mouth fill up with saliva every time. His own cock twitches, pulsing pre-cum out onto his fingers and Harry hisses, smearing it over the tip self indulgently. “What do you think about? Like when you come?”

“God,” Louis groans and it comes out so ruined Harry is _sure_ he’s touching himself, pulling his cock and thinking about Harry, and it’s so incredibly thrilling it makes Harry fuck up into the tight ring of his fist, lifting his hips off the mattress. “Your mouth,” Louis says then, so quiet Harry almost misses it. “I get off imagining your mouth on me, how good you suck me,” he explains. “I think about everything, really, your skin and how you kiss and pulling your hair but like…your mouth is so amazing, Harry. Could fuck it forever.” 

Harry is _shocked_ , so shocked his stomach plummets. This is _a lot_ , so much dirtier and crasser than he’s used to coming from Louis, Louis who whimpers his way through sex and calls Harry posh words like _beautiful_ , like _lovely_. Saying he could fuck his mouth forever. “Fuck, god, Louis,” Harry breathes, really jacking himself off in earnest how, hand moving quick and desperate. “You want to fuck my mouth? You think about it when we’re apart?” 

“So much, it’s so distracting, you and your gorgeous mouth are so fucking distracting, ” Louis says in a rush, voice coming out strangled. “And you…what do you think about? When you’re coming?” 

“I come thinking about blowing you. My absolute favorite thing to wank to, just imagining your cock in my mouth,” Harry confesses, because it’s the truth. Nothing gets him harder faster than thinking about sucking Louis, his lips stretched wide over the girth of him, his jaw aching as he drools over his own fist, tongue laving all over the tip. He loves the way Louis tastes, he loves the way he smells, he loves the way he tries not fuck too hard up into Harry’s throat but always ends up doing it anyway, fisting in his curls and holding him just right as his hips snap, choking him. He loves every little thing about it. 

“I love you,” Louis says, swallowing noisily. “So much. Are you touching yourself now? Having a wank thinking about sucking me off?” 

“Yes, yes. And like…thinking about you thinking about me. I don’t know. S’fucking hot to know you wank to my mouth,” Harry murmurs, slowing his strokes on his cock just to feel himself twitch in his palm, his body’s natural,reflexive reactions to Louis’s voice, Louis’s breath, the heady knowledge that Louis is _hard_ for him, all the way in Doncaster, a mess in his own bed from things Harry has said. 

“Fuck, I do, I have every night. I…god. I wanked thinking about your mouth even before I ever got to kiss you, before I even got to _feel_ how good it is. Like before we were together and we were staying at your house before Spain? S’always driven me mad. Just. You have the prettiest mouth, Harry,” Louis says, getting shy and quiet and mumbling at the end and _fuck_ , Harry can picture him right now, the dusting of pink on his neck he gets when he’s embarrassed himself.  
 Harry can’t even respond to this new information, he can’t do anything but keen wordlessly into his pillow. The thought of Louis getting off to his mouth before he even got to have it is so unspeakably, devastatingly hot he can hardly stand it. “Louis,” he wheezes eventually, cock heavy and pulsing in his hand, so hot to the touch everything is getting sweat-slick in his joggers. “I wish you could feel me. I’m so, so hard for you right now.” 

“I wish I could, too,” Louis hisses. “Fuck, wish I could so bad. Want to put my mouth all over you.” 

“I’m sweating,” Harry admits, thinking about Louis kissing up the inside of his thigh, licking up the dewy, humid perspiration there. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, then, incredulously, “Wait, are you actually wearing _clothes_ for once?” 

“Joggers and a hoodie, yeah. It was cold in my room,” he explains. “Not anymore.” 

“Will you take everything off?” Louis asks, breath coming out short, syncopated, in time with the way he’s jerking on his cock. “I want to picture it, want to see you like that. ” 

“ _Jesus_ , Louis,” Harry laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, I will. Erm, just hold on for a second.” 

He sets his phone down on his pillow and strips with tremulous hands, shaking all over in his layer of hot sweat, mind fuzzy over how badly he wants to do whatever Louis says, spread out naked and touch himself. He pulls his hoodie over his head and shivers, tossing it onto the floor as his eyes fall upon the half opened drawer on the bedside table. Inside, there’s a bottle of lube. He knows, because he bought it in secret two days ago, tired of using his own spit during his experimental trysts with fingering his ass. It felt pretty good before, burnt but in a raw, nervy way, but things had been _much_ better with the lube.

He hadn’t told Louis yet because he had been worried it was too presumptuous or would put pressure on something they hadn’t talked about much yet, like _I got lube, which means you should probably fuck me_ and as badly as Harry wants Louis so fuck him (God, does he want that), he’s also ok with the pace they’re going at. He doesn’t need anything to change yet, and he wasn’t planning on making a big deal about the fact he’s been fingering his ass a lot more in the last three days than he ever has, but that was before he was naked in his own bed, jerking himself while Louis talked him through it. He’s feeling desperate and slutty and bold now, like he wants to push those boundaries, he wants _more_. He grabs the lube out of his bedside table drawer without another thought, and picks up his phone with the other hand. 

“Miss me?” he asks Louis, who snorts in response. 

“You should know by now that I miss you always, like every second. So yes, I missed you.” 

“I’m naked,” Harry says cheekily, settling down onto his bed with just the sheet thrown over his splayed thighs, cock tenting it lewdly. “Also, I wanted to tell you. Um. I got some lube the other day and I’ve been like. Using it.” 

Louis makes a quiet, cut of sound before asking, “To wank?” 

“Well _yes_ ,” Harry explains, using his thumb to flick open the cap of the lube, then pressing his mobile between his ear and shoulder to free his other hand up. “But also, like for. You know.” 

Louis is quiet for a few beats, then he gasps, as it dawns on him. “Harry! Are you…are you _fucking yourself_?” he asks in a hush. “Like…oh god. With your fingers?” 

Harry giggles, squeezing some lube out onto his hand and heating it up in his palm before taking his cock and coating it, loving the easy, slick, filthy slide of his shaft in his lubed up hand. There’s too much of it and it’s messy but he likes it like that, feeling like everything is wet, like he’s dripping for Louis. “Yes, I have,” he announces cheekily, grinning. “I’ve been fingering myself every night, just to see how it feels, how it works.” 

“Fuck,” Louis groans. “I have to stop wanking, m’gonna come and I don’t want to yet but like…that’s so unbelievably hot, Harry. Fuck. How does it feel, do you like it?” he asks breathlessly, voice so shot and full of air, nothing but breath, but hunger. Harry feels drunk on it. 

“I love it,” Harry says honestly. “Feels really good, weird but like…really good. And I think of you, think about your cock and it makes it so much better.” 

“Oh my god,” Louis says thickly. “I can’t even… _fuck_. Are you, um. Doing that now?” 

“No, but I have the lube out,” Harry admits, tonguing at the corner of his mouth, room hot and humid and silent save for the filthy _snick snick_ sound of his hand on his cock. “Do you want me to?” 

“Yes,” Louis says quickly. “Fuck, _please_. Want you to so bad. God I’m so, so hard for you, I’m leaking all over my sheets, you would love it.” 

“I do love it,” Harry breathes. “I’d lick it all up, I love it so much,” he babbles mindlessly, tugging his foreskin up over the head of his cock and watching pre-cum and lube bubble up dirtily. “Ok, m’gonna put my phone on the mattress and roll over so I can reach,” he says. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis whines. “I’m dying.” 

Harry adjusts himself, rolling over onto his stomach and rutting his cock against the mattress, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it messily over his hole, which is hot and twitching and needy already; just _talking_ about this makes Harry want to get filled up. He groans a little as he rubs his index finger over the fluttering ring of muscle, getting everything slippery before he pushes it in up to the second knuckle, wincing at the delicious, filthy burn. “Ugh, Lou, wish it was you touching me, wish you could see,” he huffs out, voice low and reedy and trembling. “Feels’really good.” 

“God, god,” Louis breathes. “You’re doing it? Fucking yourself?” 

“Yeah, I have two fingers in,” Harry gasps, nudging his middle finger up alongside the first, twisting them as deep as he can, which is not very deep at this angle. There’s the dirty squelch of lube and a crick in his wrist but it doesn’t matter because Louis is listening to him and Louis is breathless and ruined because of it, making small, hungry sounds as Harry huffs into the phone.

“What does it feel like?” Louis asks weakly. 

“Um…like a stretch. It kind of hurts but it’s good, it’s like…dirty, and even though I feel full I don’t feel full _enough_ and I want more. It’s weird, I can’t describe it but I love it, I love you,” he explains, fucking himself shallowly, crooking his fingers a little to feel the tight clench of his walls. 

“Ugh,” Louis groans, his breath coming out so shallow and uneven and Harry can _hear_ him wanking, can hear the quick, desperate jerk of his hand over his cock and it’s making him twitch around his fingers, making his own cock throb and pulse out onto the sheets obscenely. “No, like…what does it feel like inside you? What does it feel like around your fingers? I want to know,” Louis asks, very nearly begging. 

“Oh god,” Harry wheezes, realizing what Louis _means_ , why Louis wants to know. “Well. Erm, I’m really hot inside. Like, burning. And tight, way tighter than a girl, s’like so tight it’s hard to pull my fingers out. And there’s a lot of lube so s’really wet, wet and hot and really tight and Louis…Louis’m gonna come for you,” he says desperately, realizing the heat building in his gut is too much to take, the friction of his sheets against his cock and his fingers in his ass and Louis’s erratic, hungry breathing on the phone all too much to take, and he's only sixteen and not good at holding on. 

“Fuck, come for me baby, please,” Louis hisses, and then, sudden and so raw, “Ah, Harry, _fuck_ ,” followed by the unmistakable sound of him getting off. His high, keening whimper, the static from his receiver getting dragged against his jaw as he shudders to finish. It’s so hot Harry loses it. 

His vision whites out and he empties himself all over his bed, humping it shamelessly, pushing his ass back onto his fingers as he rocks with with the force of his orgasm. His hole spasms hard around his knuckles, such a filthy, out of control feeling and it makes him cry out, too loud for this silent house on Christmas Eve. There he lies in a puddle of come, drooling on his sheets and mobile, legs spread in disarray, ass still pulsing. He’s a mess and he _loves_ it, loves knowing that Louis is listening to him panting, that Louis is probably still pulling on his softening cock, milking himself to the sound of Harry’s breath. 

“God, Harry,” Louis murmurs after a few seconds, voice quiet and awed and hoarse. “You’re…I’m so in love with you.” 

Harry laughs, a little wild and frantic because he’s still tingling all over, he’s giddy and Louis made him come, even if he’s not here, even from all those miles away. “I’m…I’m so, so in love with you, too, Louis. Fuck. I came so hard.” 

“Yeah, feel good?” Louis asks, voice high and light and made from sunshine, even in the middle of the night. “You sounded amazing. I lasted like all of one minute, and you weren’t even here, can you imagine how pathetic I’ll be when I actually get _my_ fingers in you? I’ll have to wank before so I don’t like, lose it immediately.” 

“Uhhhhgh,” Harry groans, pulling his fingers out and rolling onto his back, not even caring that he’s lying in a sticky puddle, that his fingers are puckered and slick with lube still. His cock twitches, shrinking back into his foreskin as he kicks under the sheets. “You want to? Finger me, I mean, when we get to to see each other again? I didn’t want to like, _assume_ —”

“Hazza, just so you know,” Louis says, his voice lilting and teasing in the way that let’s Harry know his head is cocked, his eyes twinkling brightly. “I want to do basically everything with you. It’s just a fact.” 

Harry wipes himself up half-heartedly with an old sleep shirt he found wadded up somewhere near his pillow, then tosses it into the hamper, where it doesn’t quite make it and instead slithers to the floor. “Everything? Even….pee stuff? Do you want me to pee on you?” 

Louis cracks up, the type of wild, helpless laughter that only happens when he’s had too many red bulls or has just come. “Maybe. I’ll pee in a cup and you can drink it. Can’t be much worse than that horrible beer you like,” Louis teases him. “But _really_ , really though. I can’t wait…” he inhales raggedly, swallowing like he can’t get this out on a dry throat, like it steals his breath to be be so honest. “I can’t wait to finger you open and fuck you. Think about it at least as much as I think about your mouth. And you know how much I think about that.” 

“You did mention it a few times,” Harry admits, grinning before the grin turns into a yawn. “Hey Louis,” he adds. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Happy Christmas, actually,” Louis says. “My birthday is officially over, time for me to step down and give the baby Jesus the birthday pedestal. “ 

Harry flicks his gaze over to his bedside table, where his digital clock reads 12:26. “Oh!” he says, yawning again, pleasantly wiped out. “It’s been a whole twenty six minutes. Does that mean wanking on the phone with you was my first Christmas present?! Probably the best present ever. Really. If I’m honest.” 

Louis yawns. “I try,” he says lightly. “To do the whole gift giving thing right.” 

“Gold star for Louis,” Harry murmurs. “Top marks. Ten out of ten.” 

“Harold,” Louis says fondly. “M’knackered, but will you stay on the phone with me? Until I fall asleep? Even though it’s not my birthday anymore?” 

“I’ll do anything,” Harry says, pulling back to press a sloppy kiss on the keyboard of his mobile. “Birthday Boy. Oops. Christmas Boy.” 

Harry flicks off the light, snuggling up against his mobile and thinking, _I miss you more than words can say, my heart aches when you’re away._


End file.
